


I Think You Dream About Him Sometimes

by Ray_Writes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s04e11 Turn Left, Established Relationship, F/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Writes/pseuds/Ray_Writes
Summary: The world's falling apart and some woman is stalking her saying the strangest things, yet Donna can't help thinking about the mysterious man who died under the Thames that Christmas Eve and what he might have meant to her, somehow.





	I Think You Dream About Him Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a first attempt at anything even vaguely resembling smut for me with these two and really there's no guarantees I'll ever be revisiting it so like...sorry in advance if this is terrible. I came across that line of Rose's from the episode which I've used for the title, however, and couldn't help taking my muse to the extreme in imagining _what_ Donna's dreams about the Doctor in the Turn Left universe were like, particularly if they were already a couple in the original universe (which they totally were what are you talking about). Anyway, I'm going out of town for a few days so I wanted to get something posted for you all to read while I'm away, so hopefully you like it! Thanks for reading!

Donna did dream about him sometimes.

She had no idea how the blonde that kept popping up with cryptic advice knew she did and could only hope that was the extent of her knowledge. It was embarrassing enough that she seemed to know more than her about the mysterious man who had died that Christmas Eve and yet was very much alive in Donna’s dreams.

Tall and not just thin but  _ skinny _ . Not even she was that skinny, and they barely had anything to eat these days. She could never seem to hold onto his face or who he was whenever she woke up, only vague impressions; large, brown eyes that seemed somehow ancient but softened when they looked at her, laughing together so hard her sides hurt in the morning just from the memory of it, and running, so much running — maybe that was how he was so skinny — hand in hand.

As far as fantasies went, not her usual. But if Donna had learned anything this past year, it was how to make do.

Most nights, she escaped the cramped kitchen and her mum’s snoring for what felt only a few moments of peace and tranquility, perhaps strolling arm in arm through a garden or lounging on a couch in a cozy little library with her feet resting in his lap, a thumb working into the right arch as she purred in contentment.

Some dreams there was shouting and some dreams there were monsters even more terrifying than the ones they heard about on the telly now and some dreams he said her name like it was a precious thing he was desperate to hang onto for just a little while longer.

Donna was often one of the first to bed, eager as she was to re-enter that impossible world. Sometimes it scared her, how badly she wanted to be there with him. How badly she wanted  _ him _ .

If she tried to focus on too much at once, it all slipped away and left her blinking awake in the gray light of day, cold and empty. So she didn’t. Instead she laid back on a mattress far softer than the camp bed she slept on in reality and let each and every sensation wash over her.

Cool hands stroking her sides through the thin cotton of her shirt before sneaking beneath the material and making her shudder with pleasure. Teeth nibbling her earlobe as her breath hitched. Lips wet and just a bit chapped kissing and sucking a path from her jaw down her neckline. Dexterous fingers toying with the button on her trousers.

In the dream, Donna would growl, and her fist would curl around the silk of a tie, drawing out a throaty chuckle that sent puffs of warm breath ghosting over the curve of her breasts. In reality, Donna would shift about as quietly as possible, squeezing her legs together.

She felt like she was burning and only the cool touch of his body could alleviate it, even as it paradoxically drove her into a hotter and hotter frenzy.

On a good night, a very good night, she could stagger up from the camp bed still in a half-doze into the bathroom. No one had yet to question what she was doing showering so late; they all had to take their turn when they could get it.

Donna would strip, quicker and rougher than he did in the dream — he liked to tease — and then fumble with the shower knobs. The sudden spray of the water would nearly threaten to rouse her from sleep completely, but as the long, lonely days and nights wore on, she got better and better at holding onto the fantasy. Her dismal situation was completely forgotten for the short while she would lose herself and in that instant her blissful invention seemed to crystallize into something more of a memory, and as little sense as that made, she couldn’t be bothered by it.

She didn't know what that said about her, that she'd prefer making love to a stranger who had died before she ever met him to relieving the ache inside her on her own. Yet in the dreams, he was never a stranger; he was like coming home.

Donna would slip a couple fingers between her folds, already more than wet from the water trailing down her body and her own want, and she would imagine longer ones able to twist and reach deep inside her, touch her in all the right places scarcely once she would think of them. Her other hand would have to be pressed over her mouth to hold in any sounds; she couldn't even imagine the shame if Rocco or one of the others heard her.

So she would let the man in her dreams handle the rest. He would never neglect her breasts like she was forced to, Donna felt remarkably sure about that. She would do her best to envision a tongue laving over her skin and teeth just catching the nipple, her head falling back against the shower wall with a muffled moan. The same thumb that massaged her feet after a long day would be rubbing her clit as the thrust of his fingers sped up to meet Donna's rocking hips. Donna yearned for more than fingers, yet, on her own, it was impossible to manage.

She couldn't touch him either, not without breaking the illusion, but she could hear his heavy panting and the way he groaned in a thick voice choked with adoration and need—

_ “Donna.” _

Then her vision would white out as her orgasm crashed over her.

Once or twice, she could feel the word  _ Doctor _ on the tip of her tongue in answer, which somehow surprised her less than it should. She never said a name; Donna could not seem to think of one, not even in the deepest throes of ecstasy when he was right there with her for one blissful moment. Instead she would clench and curse and cry, completely and utterly spent and shivering in the cold shower alone.

After she could get her breathing back under control and make an attempt at washing up, Donna would step out of the shower on shaky legs to dry off and pull her clothes back over her. Then she would crawl back into the camp bed, trying not to dwell on her actions with guilt as her grandad rolled over unawares on the other end of the narrow room.

She wasn't ashamed of tending to her needs, or if she was then only a little, but if anyone — her family, the Colasantos, that blonde woman — knew just  _ how _ she was doing it, well they’d have to think her mad, wouldn't they? Dreaming up some fantasy man who loved her, who might lie with her in the afterglow stroking her hair and talking late into the night about nothing and everything, and who very nearly made her really believe she  _ could _ be the most important woman in all creation. About the only comfort she had left, and it wasn't even real.

Sometimes she wondered what the point of it was, if it didn't just hurt more to have something so dazzling and wonderful just out of reach. Yet she knew with a conviction that threatened to overwhelm her at times, whenever he flew into her dreams she would take his hand.


End file.
